


The Doctor Doesnt Cuddle

by Books in the Blood (WholockHobbit88)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Sexual Content, Unresolved Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4918132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WholockHobbit88/pseuds/Books%20in%20the%20Blood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Doctor regenerated he became a man that Clara assumed didnt like touch. Clara had just begun to get used to the colder version of the Doctor when he begins to come to to her room at night and she finds the callous Doctor of the day becomes a passionate one at night. Clara finds out that having the Doctor as a friend with benefits isnt as great as she thought it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Doctor Doesnt Cuddle

The Doctor didn't cuddle; Clara learned that very quickly. Actually, there were a great many things that the Doctor didn't do now that he had a new body. He didn't cuddle, he didn't hold hands and he didn't hug. All of these revelations were hard for Clara to come to terms with but she slowly accepted that this Doctor was just a different kind of man, one who didn't care for physical affection like his former self has. Except…she'd been wrong. Certainly the Doctor wasn't a touchy feely type of person but he did have an extensive need for a certain type of affection.

Clara shouldn't have let it go on; she should have stopped him the first time he came to her room. Normally, she wouldn't have put up with such behavior. She was no one's 'shag buddy'; she wanted to be respected by anyone that she was with. She needed a certain amount of control in any aspect of her life, relationships included, and she liked to know exactly where she stood with her partners. Her error lay in the fact that she hadn't stopped him the very first time that he had come. She should have but they never talked about it and Clara found, embarrassingly, that she didn't want to call him out because then he might stop.

They had both had too much to drink that night. After a typical crazy day with the Doctor, running around an alien planet chasing a band of escaped convicts, they had ended up in a charming alien pub, eating way too much and drinking even more. After a job well done, their spirits were high, talking and laughing about the days' activities and previous adventures. Clara had felt like things were back to 'normal' between them. Ever since the Doctor had regenerated, she had felt there was something uneasy between them. Though he was the same person, he was different in many ways and it was a learning process for them to get used to their dynamic now. That night, things felt relaxed and natural between them, finally.

They had walked down the street of the alien town, tipsy but happy. The stars were shinning liked a million twinkling lights, music drifting over the hills from the town as they hummed along with it to their own song. They zigzagged and stumbled as they walked but laughed all the way. Clara remembered in her addled, dizzy state that she had thought about kissing the Doctor; she'd even tried it as they walked into the TARDIS. The Doctor had pushed her away ungraciously but they had both just laughed hysterically at the moment.

Clara had fallen into bed with the walls spinning and her balance off. She had fallen into a deep sleep almost instantly, still fully clothed but happy from the night out with the Doctor. She had been woken several hours later as she felt something moving in the bed next to her. She was still so intoxicated that she thought that the warm body she felt next to her was part of her dream; it had been a really long time after all. She closed her eyes and tried to drift back off fully, hoping to be graced with a warm, lucid dream. Instead, she felt herself wake fully as long, skillful fingers ran down her arm and back and around to her arse. A face pressed against her neck, a wet mouth sending her on fire. Her heart began beating out of tune in her chest, her eyes opening. Her back was to her visitor in the dark and she felt frozen, not wanting to turn around and break the contact. She felt a tremble of too obvious desire run through her as the fingers began to pull her skirt down under the blankets.

"Doctor?" Clara asked, her voice hushed and important in the quietness of the room. It seemed so unlikely that it could be him and yet she knew it was. She somehow knew the feel of the fingers against her skin, the ones that never touched her.

"Okay, Clara?" the Doctor asked. His voice was breathless, unbelievably arousing, his hands poised on her skirt. She could feel the press of his desire on her bum and she instantly felt a rush of warmth between her legs. He was asking her permission but they both knew they were too far gone to stop.

"Yeah" Clara gasped out and the Doctor was moving again before she had even fully spoken.

When Clara woke up the next morning, she was alone but still naked and tangled in her sheets, proving that the night before hadn't been a dream. Her head pounded with a wicked hangover but she felt sore in the best possible way. Part of her couldn't believe that the Doctor had actually come to her room the nigh before; he pushed her away and laughed when she had just tried to kiss him. To think that the Doctor had come into her bedroom, snuck into her bed and shagged her harder than anyone ever had was impossible. But the soreness and the bruises were proof of what her fogged memory told her.

She had dressed and made her way to breakfast, feeling nervous at the prospect of discussing what had happened during the night. She needn't have worried; seeing the Doctor, you would have thought that nothing amiss had happened. She found him eating biscuits out of the package (not everything about him changed after all) and drinking tea. He looked up as she entered the room.

"Sleep well?" he asked, popping another biscuit into his mouth with a smile. He seemed cheerful, more so than usual, but otherwise himself.

Clara smiled, feeling a blush that she couldn't stop. "Very well" she said truthfully as she poured herself a cup of tea. She sipped it slowly, watching the Doctor over the edge of her cup, smiling wickedly but never mentioning what happened.

The Doctor never mentioned what had happened between him and Clara that night and neither did she. They had a quiet breakfast of exchanged meaningful stares and smiles and then the Doctor was swirling around the console room with excitement. An hour later they were in 15th century China and it was like the event of the night before had never happened.

Clara wasn't bothered by the fact that they didn't discuss it. She felt she should have been; who snuck into someone's room late at night purely to sleep with them and then didn't discuss it? Shouldn't she feel used? Wouldn't she feel used if it was anyone but the Doctor? Clara always discussed everything, in great length, and yet with this most important event she felt the need to keep quiet. Maybe it was because it was the Doctor; she knew he wasn't going to simply disappear on her, at least not permanently. She wanted to ask why he suddenly changed his mind, if it was going to happen again…..but those questions too went unasked. The Doctor was such an unpredictable, changeable person sometimes and she was certain by asking him she could ensure it would never happen again, not that she was certain that it would happen again.

Clara didn't have too long to wonder about it, though. After three days of seemingly normal behavior, traveling the universe and having near death experiences like always without a single word to suggest anything had happened between them, the Doctor visited her again.

Clara woke as she felt the cool air touch her skin as the blanket and her shirt were pulled away. Her eyes fluttered open heavily as she felt the Doctor's lips against her stomach, warm and persistent as they made their way higher and higher. She was struggling to wake but her body already was, wet and throbbing as her mind slowly processed it. The Doctor was trying to pull her shirt off, difficult since he was lying on top of her. Rather than ask him what he was doing she helped him pull off the shirt, desperate for the feel of his skin against hers again.

After two times, it was now nearly impossible for Clara to put a stop to things. The part of her mind that was rational and responsible told her that eventually they'd have to discuss this, that this couldn't go on. What was she going to do, just let him come into her room whenever he needed a good release? But then, the answer was, of course she was going to let him because she wanted it as much as he did. Clara wasn't a novice when it came to the bedroom but she wasn't an expert either. The Doctor, clearly, was. It should have made sense, him being over 2,000 years old but she had always thought he must be clueless with his last incarnation's childlike innocence and this version's aversion to touch. But the Doctor knew exactly what he was doing, in every sense of the matter. He could have her quivering and needy, on the verge without even having discarded a stich of his clothing, without even coming anywhere near her heat. When he finally did enter her, after shameless teasing, he would take her with a fierceness and a need that made her view him entirely different; he looked so calm on the outside sometimes and yet he could be almost animalistic, like the alien he was. He could bring her to her release over and over again until she was a shaking mess underneath him. Those nights she practically passed out from exhaustion. Had Clara given it much thought she might have been worried that she couldn't please the Doctor with his obvious ample experience. But as it was she didn't have time to worry about that; she always was able to bring the Doctor to his release. He seemed to get more pleasure out of watching her more than anything else and anytime that wasn't enough he whispered to her what he wanted her to do. It didn't feel bossy or pushy like it would have felt with anyone else. The Doctor never spoke during their encounters unless it was him clutching at her desperately and gasping in her ear what dirty things he wanted her to do to him. It was more arousing than anything else.

It became the norm, as abnormal as it was. It was strange to be sure but Clara wasn't complaining at all. It was an odd balance, days without the smallest trace of touch and nights of tangled passion, never once speaking about it. Every few days, sometimes longer periods of absence in which Clara began to long, the Doctor would wake her from her sleep with hot, furtive touches. Clara never tried to find the Doctor in his room; it seemed like one of the many unspoken rules of their encounters that they both knew with neither speaking. In fact, Clara was sure that it was the most important rule, after never speaking about it. It was a delicate balance and Clara didn't want to make it topple. They were happy; friendlier and more at ease with each other than they probably ever had been.

But when Clara let herself think about it, really think about it at nights alone when the Doctor didn't visit, it began to bother her. She didn't notice it at first, the little nagging feeling she felt in the morning when it was over. Her body was relaxed; she was pleased when she thought about what they did the night before so she couldn't understand what the issue was. But over the next couple of months, her satisfaction began to wane until she felt nothing but a sense of regret in the morning. She didn't know what to do about it, how to fix it. She didn't know what she needed until she was already asking for it.

Clara was nearly asleep after one of their encounters when it happened. She was curled up in the blankets, her eyes closed sleepily but she fought unconsciousness. She cracked her eyes and saw that the Doctor dressing, preparing to leave. He no doubt thought that she was sleeping now; she always went to sleep so fast and that's when he made his exit.

"Please stay" Clara muttered, reaching across the bed and grabbing onto the Doctor's coat.

He quickly but gently detached her hand from his coat and stood up. "Go to sleep, Clara." His voice was neutral but there was a hard edge to it that spoke of a barrier between them.

"Sleep with me" Clara asked. Her voice came out needy and younger than she wanted it to.

The Doctor finished buttoning his shirt, looking uncomfortable. "I'm not tired" he tried to put her off.

Clara leaned across the bed, the sheet falling off of her as she reached for the Doctor. He backed away out of her hold. "Then just lay here with me?" Clara asked. She wanted him to say yes but she already knew that he wouldn't. She felt the loneliness of her soon to be empty room like a dark pit inside her.

"I don't do that" the Doctor said flatly. He began to walk toward the door and Clara realized that he was really going to leave. She felt a burning in her throat as tears tried to make their way out of her eyes.

"Please don't go" Clara said. It sounded like a beg but she couldn't even care now.

The Doctor turned around at the door. "I don't cuddle. Don't ever expect me to." He said. His voice was harsh and detached and she was still in shock when he opened the door and left.

Clara curled up on her side, hugging her own chest as she let a few tears escape her eyes. She didn't cry in earnest; she should have expected it and she couldn't be that angry at him. Hadn't she agreed to these detached meetings? For months they had been having causal sex and they'd never changed the arrangement. She shouldn't have expected the Doctor to suddenly change; he wasn't a soft person by any means. But that didn't stop her from still feeling lonely and cold as she went to sleep alone.

The Doctor didn't come back to Clara's room over the next couple of weeks. Though she wanted to tell herself that it was just a coincidence, she knew she couldn't get herself to believe that. The Doctor was getting afraid that meaningless sex, no matter how fulfilling it might be, wasn't going to be enough for Clara and Clara admitted that she had to agree. Though she woke up in the middle of the night from dreams that made her knickers wet and she wished he was there, she really wanted the game to stop. She wanted to be able to touch him, to show him affection and not just in the quite darkness of her bedroom in the middle of the night. Though she bemoaned the loss of their sordid nights, she thought that perhaps it was the best for both of them if they stopped; they obviously wanted much different things.

After a month's time Clara had nearly given worrying about. The Doctor wasn't coming back and she wasn't sure she wanted him to. Though it made her feel adventurous and alluring, she wanted something more. She was quite sure if he did come back to her room she had the strength to refuse him.

One night, after having been held up in an alien jail for over 30 hours, Clara went to her room hoping for quick sleep. But she felt off, unwell, and she couldn't go to sleep. She was dizzy and hot, even after changing into her summer nightgown which the TARDIS' temperature controls deemed unnecessary. Feeling a pressing need to get out of her small room, she walked down the hallway to the library. Going to the shelf in the library that the Doctor had placed all of her favorites on, she picked a volume out and sat down on her favorite couch. She was sure, feeling warm and woozy as she did, that she wouldn't soon find sleep and settled on reading for a while.

She had made her way through a few chapters and was feeling calmer and more ready for sleep when she saw the Doctor out of the corner of her eye. He stood leaning over the edge of the couch, staring at her. She noticed the smoldering look in his eyes and though she wanted to be angry and tell him to go away, she could feel her body betraying her with its thumping heart and sweaty palms.

"If I kiss you, will you stop me?" the Doctor asked. He had leaned in so close Clara could easily have kissed him or hit him. His voice was low and slightly desperate, like she had never heard it.

Clara's mind was screaming at her to say yes but she didn't. "No" she said, her voice a whisper as she hated part of herself for it. She hated that she didn't have the self-control to resist him after she thought she could; she hated that her body was screaming for his.

His lips were on hers, his hands quickly wrenching her nightgown up as he climbed over the couch and lay on top of her. With shaky hands her hands undid his belt and released him from trousers in record time. She tried to pull his clothes fully off of him but he was already reaching her knickers down; he moved into her with ease, Clara realizing instantly how much her body had actually missed it. They had each other in a wicked furry of tangled clothing on the couch, the Doctor meeting his release first for the first time, Clara following only seconds later.

They were still panting as the Doctor hastily zipped up his ruined trousers and Clara pulled her nightgown down. The Doctor stared ahead, catching his breath as he stared at the fire in the library's fireplace. Clara's legs were uncomfortably warm and sticky as she tried to sit normally and relax. For the longest time neither spoke but neither left either.

What had just happened? Had the Doctor come to Clara's room under the regular circumstances she might have had the will to turn him away. She would have felt annoyed and cheated that he felt he could just drop her and pick her back up when it suited his needs. But this…..this threw her off because it broke the rules. He didn't come to her when she was half asleep, quiet and easily led. He needed her; it was obvious in the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes and the desperation of his movements. Even the way he looked now was different. He looked shaken, as if he didn't understand it himself. Maybe he was coming to the realization she had already come to about needing him in different ways.

"So….can we talk about it now?" Clara asked. She was didn't know how much time had passed but her heart had calmed and the sweat had dried on her skin. She finally felt level headed enough to speak.

"Don't do this Clara" the Doctor said, heaving a big sigh as he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't smiling but he didn't seem angry at all either. He just seemed deflated.

"I just want to know what we are doing here" Clara said. Her voice was as hollow and empty sounding as she felt. She'd been consumed with longing and need; it burned out quick and hard and left her feeling like a shell. She hated herself for giving in now; it brought her no relief with all of the unanswered questions.

The Doctor took a long time in answering, looking uncomfortable at his lap. "Please, let's not do this" he said. He was practically begging her to not say anything and Clara didn't have the fight in her to really yell and scream at him.

"We are going to have to say something eventually; might as well be now" Clara said. She looked over at the Doctor, hopeful that he might be as tired as she was and just give in.

The Doctor surprised her by giving her a sly smile. "Well, I do have ways of keeping you quiet, so there's always that." He said, glancing at her.

Clara rolled her eyes but she couldn't help but smile. "You wouldn't….."She said even though she knew that he would. "It wouldn't stop me anyway."

The Doctor smiled wickedly, turning to her and moving across the couch and pinning her down under him before she had a chance to fight him. "We'll see about that" the Doctor said too calmly but with a curious glint in his eye as he leaned down and kissed the space on her chest between her breasts.

"You think you're so good" Clara said, her breath catching in her throat as the Doctor kissed down from her chest to her stomach, going further and further. When he lifted up her nightgown, Clara felt a warm stirring between her legs despite having been so thoroughly satiated moments ago.

"I am so good" the Doctor said in a dark, seductive voice as he looked up at her. Fixing her with almost blackened eyes as he looked at her from between her legs, Clara hated to say that he was right but already her resolve was gone. When his tongue plunged into her heat, she was thoroughly shut up.

…..

When Clara woke up the next morning she instantly was aware that the odd feeling she had had the previous night had followed her into the next day. She was aching and sweating but feeling chilled; she was sure a fever or something similar was coming on and she barely had the strength to pull herself out of bed. By the time she had gotten up and dressed, she felt dizzy and had to sit down on the bed before she could go find the Doctor.

Clara hadn't pushed talking with the Doctor. After his pleasant 'distraction' she knew that to press further would only irritate him; it would yield much less pleasant results. Now completely fatigued, Clara had taken a shower as quick as she could and fell into bed. She was just so tired, physically and mentally. She knew she was getting sick but the emotional toil of her situation with the Doctor was wearing her down. Feeling a lump in her throat like she wanted to cry, she knew she wanted nothing more than to just go home where things were comfortable and familiar.

Clara dragged herself down the hallway and to the console room where the Doctor was disassembling a panel on the console, looking at the parts through thick glasses. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, feeling feverish; the TARDIS sent a burst of warm air into the room and she was grateful but it didn't help.

"Doctor" Clara said, rousing the Doctor from his task.

He looked up from where he was tinkering, tipping his glasses down to look at her over the top of them. "Good morning, Clara" he said, pleasantly with a smile. He looked as if everything was well in his world and just his exuberance made her tired. How could he just be okay with all of this? Didn't he have any feelings after the incident the library? She wanted to hate him; he seemed so alien. But she didn't hate him and she knew she never could.

"I want to go home" Clara said flatly, her head pounding. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in her own bed and in her own home, away from him.

The smile on the Doctor's face vanished and Clara was a little bit satisfied by it. "Home?" he asked. There was worry in his tone and Clara knew that he thought that she wanted to go home permanently. Maybe she could just let him believe that? But no…..she wouldn't put him through the worry, no matter how callous he'd been lately.

"I'm just feeling a bit off. I want the comfort of my own bed and my own room." Clara said.

The Doctor took off his glasses and crossed the room to come stand in front of her. He looked relieved at her statement but not entirely at ease. "We could go to the infirmary and I could find something to help you feel better" the Doctor suggested with uncharacteristic helpfulness. "I am a Doctor after all" he flashed her a smile.

"I really just need some rest is all" Clara insisted gently. Her eyes fluttered tired and the Doctor could see that he had lost the fight.

"Alright…..if you're sure" he said obligingly, walking back over to the console and starting up the TARDIS.

When they had arrived and the TARDIS came to a halt once more, the Doctor seemed to hesitate, looking up from the console. "Are we okay, Clara?" he asked. He was looking at her with wide, open eyes, an expression of openness and vulnerability that she had never seen there. She thought she'd feel victory when he finally realized that everything wasn't okay. But now all she felt was empty.

"We might be…..someday" she said with harsh honesty.

….

A day later, Clara was lying in her own bed in her flat but she felt no comfort from it like she had hoped for. She had one of the worst flus that she could recall ever having and nothing seemed to help. Over the course of twenty four hours her mild temperature and dizziness had turned into a raging fever and a stomach that rolled with nausea every time that she tried to get out of bed. She had gotten up as few times as possible, making a nest out of her bed with medicine, tissues, water and a rubbish bin all within reach as necessary. She had curled up in the blankets with her head swimming and her stomach threatening to spill with each movement. The telly drowned on some never ending advert but she had misplaced the remote and so she just let it play, covering her head with a pillow and begging for sleep anyway.

She had been so consumed with every ache and pain that she had that she hadn't given much thought to the Doctor until now. The last thing that she wanted to do was analyze what had happened between them but with nothing but time on her hands she didn't see how she could avoid thinking about it. It was obvious that things couldn't continue the way that they had been going; she had to be stronger than she had been and put an end to this. She was embarrassed that she had let it go on as long as she had. But with that realization left a pang of regret in her heart. It would be hard enough to turn the Doctor's affections away; hard but not impossible. She did have some measure of self-control. But what really was bothersome was the effect it might have between her and the Doctor. Things had been so much more relaxed and at ease between them and now she was sure that her calling their nightly encounters off would break that. She wouldn't blame the Doctor for being upset; she was just as much to blame as he was about this. But with his reluctance to talk about it at all there wasn't much she could do to fix it.

Clara was close to sleep when she heard the whirring sound of the TARDIS close by. She was so near sleep that she thought that she must be dreaming, her thoughts having been so consumed with her worries. But when the sound of the TARDIS was replaced with the sound of the Doctor's voice yelling, "Clara! Clara!" and the feel of the thump of the bed next to her as he plopped down beside her, she knew she wasn't dreaming.

"What, Doctor?" Clara asked irritably, cracking one eye open to look at the Doctor sitting next to her. His face was a glow with excitement and he moved way too much for Clara's comfort; every slight motion of him on the bed set her stomach to the brink of losing it again.

"I have something I must show you!" he said with wide, excited eyes. "Come on! It's the middle of the day, why are you still in bed? I knew that humans required a lot of sleep but you're going to sleep your short life away. Now, come on!"

Of course it was like him to just forget about her being upset and move on, Clara thought irritably. She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm sick…..go away" Clara said miserably.

"Oh…..you're still not feeling well?" the Doctor asked, confused and deflated.

"Well, I don't know what kind of screwy time thing you did to the TARDIS but it's only been one day since you left, for me at least" Clara said tiredly. "So, yes…..I'm still sick. I can even think of getting out of bed."

"Do you…need anything?" the Doctor asked uncomfortably. He was trying to care at least a little bit which Clara appreciated. But what she really needed was to lose herself to sleep and try to not think about him.

"Some peace and quiet" Clara grumbled. She heard no response for several seconds and then she felt the bed shifting around her. When she glanced behind her she saw the Doctor pulling back the covers and climbing into bed with her. Anger flared up inside her; if he thought for one second he was getting anything out her…

"What do you think you're doing?" Clara snapped, trying to roll away from the Doctor. Her head swam and she made little headway.

The Doctor's arms wrapped around her and pulled her back against his chest with a little too much force. Clara's anger increased; the Doctor was the only person clueless enough to think he'd still get lucky with her pale as ghost and barely able to lift her head.

The Doctor squeezed Clara too tightly, laying his head heavily against hers. "What are you doing?" Clara demanded when the Doctor didn't answer.

"Shut up and go to sleep" the Doctor said but his tone was soft and not as harsh as his words.

Clara was confused. "But-" she started but the Doctor cut her off.

"You're ill…..go to sleep or I'll leave" the Doctor demanded.

Clara's fevered head finally caught up to what he was doing. He was just holding her? There was no ulterior motives, no tricks? After all of his arguing, all of his words to the contrary he was actually cuddling with her? Clara almost wanted to be mad at him; why was it okay now but not when she had asked him?

But it just felt too right. Lying against the Doctor, warm and soft, his arms holding her was so comforting that she didn't want to do anything to ruin it. With a smile on her face, Clara nestled close to the Doctor, comforted by the sound of his dual heartbeats. Within second she felt herself drifting off to sleep. Despite being sicker than she'd been in years Clara was convinced that she slept more than soundly that night than she ever had before.


End file.
